What's Best for Friends
by PrairieLily
Summary: MOLLSTRADE... Sherlock loves Molly, enough to recognize his own emotional limitations. Forgive me my fellow Sherlollians! But the gorgeous Greg Lestrade is just too yummy to resist and I found this rogue plot bunny refusing to leave my normally Sherlolly and Eurstrade obsessed brain! I own none of these characters, no copyright infringement is intended!
1. Chapter 1

_I am venturing into unknown territory. It feels foreign, and frankly... a little bit traitorous._

 _I am writing my first Mollstrade. Yes, the beautiful Molly Hooper and the gorgeous, underrated Greg Lestrade. I have always been a dedicated Sherlolly shipper, and that has absolutely NOT changed, but this one wouldn't leave me alone. I thought about the affection that is shared between Molly and Sherlock and wondered what might happen if Sherlock were to recognize not only his own feelings for Molly, but his own limitations, and in order to preserve some of her happiness, to orchestrate something unheard of - a matchmaking between the woman he loves, and a man he has come to admire and consider to be a close friend?_

* * *

"Sherlock?"

John Watson knew his best friend well.

There was the Sherlock who was deep in thought, even deep enough to be thoroughly entrenched in his mind palace, completely oblivious to anything and everything around him.

But then there was the Sherlock who was troubled.

Sherlock remained silent for what seemed like about 30 minutes, after John had spoken his name in an attempt to capture his attention. In reality, John realized, it was probably more like 30 seconds. He was used to a somewhat delayed reaction from Sherlock Holmes. But then, as expectedly unexpected as pressing a needle into a balloon… knowing the result but still gasping with surprise when it actually exploded, Sherlock spoke.

"What do you do if you love someone, and you've admitted it, more or less… okay, so you've full out admitted it but still not acted on it. But, you know you can't make them happy. If you know that your true nature, that thing you can never fully escape, will only end up preventing you from giving them what they need the most in an emotional way, and you know you will only be… at the very least depriving them… or at the worst, dooming the relationship and wounding them in the end?"

John thought about it a moment. It was rare enough for Sherlock Holmes to ask him for advice, so the fact that he was doing just that about romantic entanglements – or rather, his desire to avoid one - right now was a bit… not unsettling, exactly. John couldn't find a word for it really.

"Well," John said, thoughtfully. "I suppose you let them go, and if you have it in you after you've managed that, you guide them towards that which can give them what you feel certain you can't."

Sherlock slowly turned his gaze up to John.

"Yes," he finally said, a smile slowly morphing. "It's obvious. Of course, it's so obvious now. And now, let's just suppose, it will make not one, but two people you care about happy?"

John shrugged, giving Sherlock a half smile.

"Then, more's the better, I suppose."

Sherlock averted his gaze for a few moments, thinking, pondering. Then he turned it back to John.

"Yes," he repeated. "I know exactly what I should do."

John searched Sherlock's face for some sort of clue, but all he saw was a sparkle of determined intention in the blue-green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Hooper wasn't completely unaware of the intensity in the tone in the deep voice, the fleeting looks, cautious and wanting, yet still benign and with utter self-control behind them. Truthfully, she found them to be flattering, and sweet. Not once did he ever say or do anything that wasn't put forth with true intention of friendship and gentlemanly concern, or with the utmost professionalism.

It was obvious to her, though, that Greg Lestrade fancied her. Molly may have had her heart set on Sherlock Holmes, but she was still a red-blooded woman with clear vision.

Greg had the warmest, kindest dark brown eyes, but they betrayed his every emotion, and she wasn't even sure if he realized it. If you knew him well enough and had had occasion to work with him as well, she thought, you soon enough learned this trait of his and how to read it. Greg's eyes, expressive to a fault, were truly the windows to his soul. And what a beautiful soul it was.

His hair, much darker when she'd first met him, but over a few short years had turned a most attractive combination of silver in just the right places to look distinguished, giving him a look of ironically boyish wisdom.

His voice, at the very least matching Sherlock's baritone – at most possibly even surpassing it, depending on his mood. That by itself was an incredibly attractive trait for Molly. There was something about a voice like that which she found to be incredibly comforting and reassuring. Maybe that was part of her attraction to Sherlock, and maybe it was part of the reason she knew that if not for Sherlock, she may even fancy Greg.

His heart, only allowed on his sleeve in front of those he trusted most with it. And she knew, along with everyone else, that the very last on that list was his cheating soon to be ex-wife.

They were close enough friends that she knew that she was amongst those at the top, however. She knew Greg Lestrade's heart, because he trusted her with it, without any expectation of anything in return besides the loyalty of friendship.

This man, who held so many attractive traits, provided you weren't already in love with another, was definitely an ideal catch. She recoiled inwardly at the thought of being the source of his pain, but then again, she was no stranger to that herself. Perhaps, she thought, that's why the idea was so repugnant to her – she knew how it felt. She knew _exactly_ how it felt, and she wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone a man as good and honourable as Greg Lestrade.

And then, Sherlock had strode into her lab, with a look of intense purpose on his face.

"Molly," he said, his voice crackling with unfamiliar emotion and determination. "We need to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

Greg Lestrade sat at his desk, staring blankly at the documents in his hand. The pen he had used a moment before to finalize a life-changing decision he had set into motion months ago sat benignly on the desk, just a few inches away. His office ceiling light was off, the desk only dimly illuminated by the small lamp he kept there for a softer lighting when he needed it, and the incoming light from the hallway through the open door.

Years he couldn't decide if he'd wasted or not, or who the faults in the foundation of the marriage should be squarely put on.

He might blame it on himself. Being a detective at the Yard was a full time commitment, and by its very nature seemed to push a marriage to the back burner. Countless shifts that had doubled up on themselves, late night calls to go out to attend a scene. Being forced to abandon dinner dates and quiet nights in, when they'd still been making an effort at a somewhat normal marriage.

Then there was Molly Hooper.

Maybe Greg hadn't strayed in any way but in his heart, but he had found himself attracted to the younger woman who worked as a pathologist at St. Bart's. She was beautiful in the most natural and effortless of ways, highly intelligent, and she understood him.

She had a zero tolerance for bullshit – which was why it baffled him to this day that she was still hung up on Sherlock.

Molly and Greg also worked well together in tandem, and she held the same passion for solving crimes that he did – only in her own way - by giving voice and translation to the victims who were far beyond the powers of Greg, or any other detective at the Yard for that matter, to extract real answers from.

Or he might blame it on Jillian. They had married just after he had passed his Sergeant's exam and earned the promotion. She knew exactly what she was getting into – she had married him with her eyes wide open, and had still stood at the altar in front of friends and family and made those vows, for better or for worse. And then, she had strayed anyway, broken the vows, lost sight of why she had married Greg to begin with.

Or maybe it was on both of them, for all of those reasons and more. Maybe Jill just hadn't turned out to be copper's wife material, and maybe Greg just hadn't turned out to be regular husband stock. Maybe they had just been a doomed mismatch from the start. He had seen colleagues in the same separation and divorce situation, but by the same token, he had colleagues, superiors even, whose marriages spanned into decades without losing ground. Whatever secrets to happiness that they had found, they had utterly eluded Greg.

It was possible that at that point, his marriage had already reached that point of no return. In any case, the idea of Molly Hooper in his life in any capacity other than what she was already in, filled him with happiness – and guilt. It was an ugly combination for a man who had the final, tangible conclusion to his marriage sitting literally in his hands.

In any case, the divorce documents sat loosely in Greg's grip, but for some reason, instead of growing heavier by the second, he found they were becoming lighter.

Relief?

Perhaps.

Setting the papers down, he took one last look at the plain gold band on his left hand before pulling it off his ring finger. Carefully, almost tenderly – as if putting a delicate memory to its final resting place - he set it down on the desk, on top of the papers.

Then, he heard a soft knock on the door of his office.

When he looked up, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

"So tell me, Sherlock. Once again you have a beautiful woman who loves you and you're throwing it away. Remind me again, why is that?" John was genuinely dismayed at Sherlock's continued habitual disregard for the women in his life who may show interest.

"You know why, John. I'm too… well, let's be honest, I'm selfish. I'm a selfish bastard, I always have been. I have tunnel vision when I'm on a case, you know that," Sherlock said. "How many times have I forgotten that you're even in the room? I was like that before we met, and I'm still like that. I go into my mind palace and I can stay there for hours with absolutely no awareness of my surroundings. Tell me John, what woman deserves a man who will disregard her even when he doesn't deliberately intend to do so? A man who will forget anniversaries and birthdays and all of those small moments in between. Who will probably forget even to tell her how much he loves her, because he is so self-absorbed that he actually believes he said it out loud." Sherlock sounded strangely calm, as if he'd put a great deal of thought into it, and was absolutely convinced, and was now reciting a monologue to his best friend.

"So, you love Molly enough to just… not even try?"

"My best efforts would never be what she truly deserves, John. She deserves someone who will be devoted to her, who has a far better grasp on human emotion than I will ever be capable of having. I'm an asshole… an utter cock and I doubt that will ever change. I love Molly Hooper, and I want her to be happy. I want what's best for her, not what's best for me, and that is quite possibly the most loving thing I can ever do for her. Doing that is what will make me happiest."

John shook his head and sighed. Sherlock had a point, there was no denying that.

Especially that part about being an asshole, and an utter cock. But, he thought, that was beside the point now.

"Right then. So what have you done, exactly?"

"Molly's head knows that we will never be together in that way, but her heart hasn't caught up yet. They need to meet in the middle. Once they've done that, she can move on. So I've… nudged them a little bit." Sherlock smiled for the first time since John had asked him why he was doing what he was doing to Molly Hooper.

"Right. Nudged. Any particular direction, then? Towards something, or someone?" John had no idea what Sherlock was up to, but he knew his best friend and he knew that whatever it was, he was doing it with only the best of intentions, even if his methods were a tad unconventional, not to mention a bit clueless.

"Yes, in fact. Towards someone who already loves her the way she deserves." Sherlock sat back, steepling his hands under his chin.

"Someone who already loves her… besides you, of course. Yes, well… oh…" John said, a smile forming as comprehension struck. "Greg Lestrade." John chuckled softly. "Sherlock Holmes, Matchmaker. Now I think I've heard of everything."

Sherlock only smiled back at John, and John thought he saw, for the first time in a very long time, a look of contentment in his best friend's eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been several months since Sherlock's visit to Molly.

He had put his heart on his sleeve, walked into her lab, and asked her if she might forgive him for not allowing her to have it.

After explaining to her why he felt this was for the best, he had casually (so he thought – Molly may have disagreed at the time) launched into a sales pitch in favour of Greg Lestrade that would have sold snow to a Siberian.

Molly had stood in stunned silence. There was no denying that what Sherlock was saying made perfect sense.

It seemed obvious to her that Sherlock understood human emotion well enough – but it was really only in theory most of the time. When it came to putting it into practice, he didn't have a bloody clue.

"All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. Give yourself time, and then give Griffin a chance."

Molly scowled. "Greg," she said simply.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock smiled. "Just seeing if you were listening. Gregory Joseph, I do believe is his full Christian name. At least, according to his divorce documents."

Molly smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. God, but this man was aggravating. Could she really do it, though? Could she really reconcile her heart with what her head already knew, with regards to both Sherlock, and Greg?

As she pondered that, Sherlock took a step closer, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You have always mattered, you have always been important, and you have always counted. But Molly, you have not been those things _only_ to _me_." He smiled at her hopefully. "I can see a spark of interest in your eyes when Greg is in the room. Give that tiny ember a chance to grow into a blaze of passion and happiness, Molly. I will always love you and I will always be there for you, but you deserve so much better than me." He leaned in and softly kissed her cheek, lingering perhaps a moment longer than he should have.

When he pulled back, Molly was surprised to see a glistening of unshed tears in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Greg sat at his kitchen table, attempting to read the morning paper. His coffee cup sat ignored, the contents having long since lost their warmth.

It wasn't the first time he'd found himself unable to focus. These days, it seemed, when he wasn't on duty and had his game face firmly applied, he couldn't concentrate worth a tinker's damn. No matter what he tried, when he wasn't fully engrossed with his job, his mind drifted back to the conversation – such as it was – when Sherlock had made the surprise visit to his office at the Yard.

"I see you've liberated yourself," Sherlock had said, noting the documents and the abandoned wedding ring that sat on the desk.

"For what that's worth, yeah," Greg had said, sombrely. He was exhausted, physically and mentally both. He really didn't need Sherlock and his deductions right now.

"It may be worth more than you think, Greg," Sherlock smiled. Without waiting for invitation – he knew he may not get one anyway given the timing and the items on the desk – Sherlock pulled up a chair, seating himself across from the DI. It wasn't that he was planning to stay long, but rather, he wanted to look his friend in the eye from a more level angle. Standing at their full heights, Greg's stature was barely an inch shorter than his, but Sherlock didn't want his friend to have to rise from his chair when he was so clearly exhausted.

Besides, what he wanted to say was more of a, "you'd better sit down for this" sort of thing.

"What I have to say is simple. I just gave up a woman I love very much. Don't you dare do the same thing."

"Sherlock… you do realize what these are, yeah?" Greg said with a scowl, jabbing a finger towards the last surviving tangible evidence that he'd even been married in the first place.

"Yes, I do. Different woman. I refer of course to the one you _really_ love. The one who understands you and cares for you, and above all else, who _values_ _you_. The one with a zero bullshit tolerance." Sherlock raised his hands to his chin, forming the familiar steeple, waiting patiently as a smile started to form at the corners of his mouth.

Greg cocked his head at his detective friend. "Like the one who loves you," he said, furrowing his brows over eyes that were beginning to show comprehension.

"Yes," Sherlock grinned, rising from the chair.

"Same woman."

And with that, he winked at Greg, and with a flourish of his Belstaff, exited through the office door, leaving Greg Lestrade to sit at his desk, stunned and speechless.


	7. Chapter 7

One day, when Greg had had occasion to visit Molly in the lab on official business, something about her made him throw caution to the wind.

It may have been the way she had her hair tied back, although that was her preferred style – practical, yet beautiful in its simplicity, and something he had seen countless dozens of times already.

Maybe it was the jumper she wore under her open lab coat, which countered the effects of the harsh lights of the lab on her complexion, and brought out the gold flecks in her eyes.

Or it may have been the way she looked at him. Something in her eyes was different, and while Greg never claimed to be observant on the level of, say, Sherlock Holmes, his copper's eye - honed over the years to read body language - still knew a hawk from a hand saw when presented with one.

That same day, that same moment in fact, Molly had decided on her own that she was ready to move on. Sherlock was a special man, and he would always have a place in her heart. She had come to realize only a day or two prior though, that while she still loved him and always would, she was no longer _in_ love with him. There was a tremendous difference between the two, and Molly had come to the gloriously liberating realization that giving her heart to Greg would not mean taking it away from Sherlock. The two men simply occupied different places now, was all.

It was the perfect reconciliation of reassigning Sherlock, and giving Greg that spot that the consulting detective had occupied for far too long.

The only question now was – was it too late? Had she made Greg wait too long?

It would only take a few awkward moments to find out.

"Um… Greg?" Molly had suddenly blurted out, nervous as a school girl. The tone made Greg look up from the file she had handed to him. He casually reached over to place his hand on the table he stood next to, because his knees were suddenly getting a bit wobbly, and landing on them in an unceremonious heap in front of her would probably not be the best outcome for his dignity.

"Would you like to… um…" she trailed off, her courage starting to falter.

"Have dinner?" Greg finished. He smiled at her, and she reached out for a nearby chair, casually trying to hide the fact that her own knees were turning to goo.

Damn the man, she thought. Why did he have to be so bloody thoughtful, and intuitive.

"Um… yes. Dinner." She laughed nervously, letting her relief slowly trickle in.

So, it wasn't too late. Her knees began to regain their strength, along with her nerve.

"I would love to," Greg said, his equilibrium starting to return. He paused a moment, thinking quickly. "Would you like to go out, or I could throw something together at my place, we could stay in perhaps, if you prefer. I'm no Jamie Oliver, but I can throw together a decent little feast," he laughed softly. "My mum made sure I knew how to look after myself before I headed off to Hendon."

"Well, since you've suggested it... I rather think I'd prefer to stay in. The idea of cooking with you is just… incredibly…" she blushed furiously, "well, it's just bloody sexy. There, I said it, and I'm not sorry I did." She placed her hands on her hips, gazing up at him.

He held her gaze for just a moment, before blurting out, "You know, I realize we haven't even had our first date yet, but I'm having one hell of a hard time not kissing you right now. And just for the record, I'm not sorry either." Greg flashed a smile that did her in utterly and completely.

That was all Molly Hooper needed to hear. Why lean on a chair when there was a perfectly sweet, incredibly attractive man in front of her, willing to spend the rest of his life holding her up, and most likely, allowing her to do the same for him?

With two courageous strides, she was in front of him, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. She took just a moment to take in the shine in his eyes, and how suddenly years of stress from personal discontent seemed to melt away at her touch. He brought his own hands up to slowly pull her closer to him, as her fingers brushed lightly across the stubble he had chosen to keep that day. As she gently guided his face down to meet her, sliding one hand up to run her fingers through the silver hair that she had longed to touch for longer than she had admitted to herself, he didn't resist. When their lips met, tentatively at first, then gradually finding comfort and passion in the wonders of new hopes and dreams, it seemed to both of them that all was suddenly just as it should be.

And they both wondered what the hell had taken them so long.

* * *

Later on, Molly would acknowledge that what she had initiated had been a good and proper snog.

Greg would be inclined to agree. In fact, they had repeated it a few times that day, just to make good and properly sure.

Two weeks after their first dinner date at Greg's place, and several dates later - bringing what was admittedly sinfully rapid progress - Sherlock had happened along at the lab. He was there mostly on a case, but partially, he admitted to himself, to check up on the status of what he had hoped he had nudged along. He was happy to see Greg there on official police business - that would save him a trip to the Yard, and allow him to observe them together.

When he had quickly observed and then deduced the status of Molly and Greg's relationship, he smiled in utter contentment.

Later on, when he had returned to 221B, he found John unpacking groceries, Rosie having already been put down for her nap.

"Well? How are they? Don't tell me you didn't go snooping around, Sherlock. I know you too well for that," John chuckled.

Sherlock smiled serenely. "They are… exactly as they should be. And so am I, John."


End file.
